


Blood Covenant

by aislingyngaio



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6858193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aislingyngaio/pseuds/aislingyngaio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of Theramore's destruction, Orgrimmar and the Horde is cursed. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Covenant

Grunth kept his head down and played in the little pond alongside his other orphan siblings. The adults were scared again. There hadn't been a day since "war" began that the adults weren't scared. Sometimes they were angry, like the scary Kor'korn guards, but the other adults were mostly scared and worried, like Matron.

He had thought the warchief Garrosh said that this "war" would bring them honour and glory, and the adults had been excited... in the beginning. He had been too, caught up in the fervour even though he was still too young to even help with the blacksmiths. Now he liked playing in the pond better. He didn't like "war" any more, if it meant he had to kill people like their nice new friends, especially Mary and Tommy. Even though they were older than him and the other orphans, they were kind and nice, and they speak baby Orcish phrases in a funny accent and made them laugh.

They certainly weren't monsters like warchief Garrosh said. Maybe if the warchief met more humans like them, he won't be so angry all the time?

* * *

Battlewail silently watched her orphans from a distance, only wishing she could be as carefree as they were. With Tosamina gone, she was left sole-carer of an orphanage that, even with the older orphans now removed to assist in the war efforts, seemed to be growing at an alarming rate.

War had erupted between Alliance and Horde again. And then... it had ceased. But the death tolls kept rising.

They were cursed.

Matron Battlewail believed in the ancestor's spirits. She had believed in the warchief. She didn't believe in the strange magic the blood elves wielded. And yet...

She knew Tosamina was harsh with the children, harsh because they were children of the Horde. Even without their parents to teach them, they had to learn the strength befitting the Orcish Horde. _Lok'tar ogar!_

But since that terrible day, strange things happened everywhere in Orgrimmar. And whenever Tosamina tried to discipline the children, they cried out for help in a garbled mix of Orcish and Common, which was shocking in itself. No self-respecting orc bothered to learn the hated human tongue except when absolutely necessary, to cast off their history as slaves to the human pigs. What was stranger still was that... well, _bad_ things happened to Tosamina. Accidental trips, backlashed pain, mysteriously induced injuries to say a few. Towards the end, she doubted that Tosamina was even able to sleep at all.

Battlewail did not doubt her assistant when she confessed that last point. She herself had always felt as if she had a shadow, a faint voice of mocking laughter always trailing after her, even in her dreams.

Two weeks after it first began, Tosamina vanished in the night. Her body was eventually recovered from the edge of the Overgrowth, where she'd gone for a warrior's death. The children only kept up their chattering in their childish mixed tongues, happier now that she was gone.

A slight tinkling sound brought her out of her thoughts and focused her attention to her desk - the inkwell had inexplicably tipped over, the black liquid spreading rapidly across the wood. Battlewail didn't hurry to right the bottle, or mop up the spillover; instead, she covered her face as she sank down helplessly, praying, "Ancestors, help us..."

Only the _drip drip_ of ink answered her.

* * *

Sweat rolled down Kardris' face as she concentrated hard. She had to obey the warchief's commands, whatever the cost. They were shaman, but they were also of the Horde, and the warchief's will was absolute.

 _It had been better under the warchief Thrall_ , her heart whispered.

Shaking off the traitorous thought - Thrall was no longer warchief - she once again laboured to maintain the aid of the elements in their quest for Kalimdor. Yet the harder she tried, the harder it was for the elements to trust her.

Ever since the white witch came, the elements had become harder and harder to please.

Every day the Kor'korn came demanding a report, and every day Kardris' reply was more and more hopeless. The elements were abandoning the Horde, even though their motives were just. Why should they not have complete dominance over Kalimdor? It is only right that the Horde wash over this continent they had taken for themselves. The Horde was always meant to reign supreme!

It was not the shamanistic way to force the elements to comply, but Kardris did not want the warchief's displeasure upon her. When Garrosh grew angry, orcs died. Orcs or trolls or goblins or tauren. Kardris didn't want to be next, even if it meant to go completely against tradition and subjugate the elements.

Even if her grandmother had told her over and over again what had happened when the ancestors stopped answering the call of the clans, had cautioned her that the elements would never forget their mistreatment at the hands of a shaman.

As she looked up to see the zeppelin from Undercity arriving at its platform, Kardris took a deep breath and concentrated. If it came down to a choice, _the_ choice, she'd much rather be alive and a dishonoured shaman, than dead by the warchief's command.

* * *

The contingent from Undercity, though escorted by impatient Kor'korn, were in no hurry as they were led into Grommash Hold. While most orcs shuddered and turned away from the sight of the ghostly Val'kyr floating behind the Dark Lady, she could not help but notice that their unease was not merely due to the sight of her companions or even herself. Perhaps this was the reason the warchief had been so insistent that she bring along one of her Val'kyr.

"We are not alone, it would seem," Lady Sylvanas announced to the sullen-faced congregation within the throne room, apropos of absolutely nothing.

Garrosh snarled, his frustration and bloodshot eyes a balm to Sylvanas' cold heart, even as she sensed the heavy concentration of spirits in the room quite aside from her own banshee sisters. "No, we are bloody well not. Where the hell is that goblin?"

As if on cue, a goblin raced into the room, bowed and handed a parchment to Garrosh "with compliments from the Trade Prince". Yet, before Garrosh or any of his Kor'korn could seize hold of the messenger, he vanished and slipped out of sight.

Angrily yelling for the Shattered Hand to find the disrespectful goblin, Garrosh nevertheless tore open the message and scanned it quickly, only to roar yet again in dissatisfaction, tearing the parchment in his anger.

"Trouble in paradise?" Sylvanas barely managed to rein in her sneer, as she took her place beside a blank-faced Lor'themar. Once upon a time, they had been fellow rangers, communicating with mere glances and hunting signals. Now, she could barely read his face even if she cared to. Vo'ljin was silent but disturbed, while Baine was the only one brave enough to pick up the torn pieces to read the message from Gallywix.

"It seems that the goblins have withdrawn to Bilgewater Harbour and will no longer participate in this campaign," Baine intoned in his deep voice. "Apparently, the cost of their machinery and siege tanks constantly malfunctioning due to 'inexplicable reasons' has taken a toll on their profitability, and unless 'the situation is resolved', Bilgewater Cartel will seriously consider withdrawing from the Horde entirely for their own survival."

Garrosh slammed a fist into the arm of his throne. A girlish giggle echoed throughout the room.

The Dark Lady narrowed her eyes and held out her hand, forcing her will into the room as she searched out the dead. Behind her, her Val'kyr did the same, attempting to raise them in the Forsaken's service. Nothing happened except a snigger, this one much more mature and malicious in her satisfaction.

Lor'themar harrumphed impatiently, as Sylvanas narrowed her eyes and watched Garrosh carefully. Vol'jin only sighed. "Dere be nothin' more to do, Hellscream, if even da Dark Lady can't get to dem. Not my spiritwalkers, or yours or Baine's shamans, or da Regent's mages neither. Dere be only one way to end dis."

"What? Give up? Cower to the Alliance? Bah! Curse that woman and her curses. And curse the Horde for believing it to be real! They are annoyances, nothing more!" Garrosh raged, spittle flying everywhere. "Incompetent and traitorous cowards!"

"I warned you," the Tauren high chieftain reminded the berserk warchief in a deceptively soft voice. "We all did," he added, with a slight bow to Sylvanas, which she deigned not to return. "Even before you started all this, and before we even knew what lengths you were prepared to go for victory. And maybe you did win after a fashion, Warchief, but at what cost?"

"Ja, mon. The spirits, dey be disturbed. No longer can we call dem in da Valley o Spirits. And dem elements, dey be chaos in Orgrimmar." Vol'jin mused, steepling his fingers together. Outwardly he remained calm, but his aura was anything but. "Can you not feel dem? Dey be angry, mon. Dey cry out for their brethren at Northhold, ja and Theramore too."

Sylvanas could not say she empathized with the living in the room, it being a long time since she'd felt the speed of wind or the heat of fire. What she heard, however, above the renewed rantings of the warchief, was a hoarse whisper in a man's voice, crying _Vereesa_!

Tamping down the irrational urge to reach for her locket in response - both her sisters were _lost_ to her, she reminded herself firmly - Sylvanas refocused her attention in the room in time to catch Lor'themar replying Garrosh with cold politeness, "My sovereign prince sought victory at any price too, once upon a time. He reaped his consequences, as did we all, and soon, so will you, as with Thalen Songweaver."

"I made no deal with the demons!" Garrosh yelled righteously. The room's other occupants only sighed inwardly at this pronouncement.

_Then you have learned nothing, Garrosh Hellscream._

"GAAAAAAAAAH!" the orc only screamed as he hefted Gorehowl and swung it around wildly, trying to find the invisible whisperer. "COME OUT AND FACE ME, COWARDS!" As soon as he finished speaking, however, he somehow fell facefirst into the rug in the middle of the room without any warning.

Before he could regain his footing, Baine rose. "Enough. I care not whether you believe this curse is real, Garrosh Hellscream. What I care about is that you've led us into a conflict with no honour, and my braves have died for nothing. We are an honourable race, and yet the Red Rocks are now disturbed and restless, crying out for balance. We are loyal to the Horde, but we will not continue participating in this campaign."

As he moved to leave, Garrosh gripped Gorehowl tighter as he yelled "traitor!" The Kor'korn moved in as if to arrest Baine, but it was Sylvanas who stood. She had no love for anyone else in the room, nor did she believe in honour as much as the rest (those days were long past), but she saw an opening that allowed her Forsaken to withdraw from Orgrimmar as well. After all, this war had cost the Forsaken much while gaining them nothing.

"No. Unless you plan to execute all of us, Warchief, which will be most unwise. Your orcs are already uncertain and afraid ("bah!") and if you kill one of us you'll have to kill us all, which will almost certainly guarantee that all our peoples will desert the Horde." She let her lip curl contemptuously, finally able to look her nose down on her jailer since Wrathgate. "With the goblins already gone, are you certain you can afford that, Warchief?"

Garrosh choked, spluttered, but with no other alternative, yelled, "Get out, all of you!" With mocking bows from Lor'thermar and Sylvanas, and more respectful salutes from Baine and Vol'jin, they all left gladly under the glower of the sullen Kor'korn.

* * *

Grunth ran all the way to Grommash Hold, hoping to peek at all the Great Leaders from the other races. This was so exciting! Maybe he would see the Lady Sylvanas! Matron said he would have to wait till Children's Week to get an adventurer to take him to Undercity, but Lady Sylvanas was here!

"Did you see her, Tommy? Isn't she scary? I wonder if she's going to leave the Horde though," Grunth whispered animatedly to his friend, pointing at the pale leader of the Forsaken.

Tommy only smiled sadly, remembering the same excitement he'd felt when he was able to meet the Archdruid Malfurion years ago, before he'd grown old enough to enlist and was sent to Theramore as part of its defence. It was hard to see the difference between him and his supposed enemy, now more than ever. Grunth wasn't a monster. He was just a child, with a child's wonder and innocence. So unlike his older orphan siblings who were conscripted and slowly being poisoned with Horde propaganda... just like he had been when he'd first enlisted in Stormwind.

_Why were we taught to learn to hate each other?_

Perhaps there was something to what the Lady Jaina had said after all.

* * *

Far, far away, deep within the Maelstrom, Go'el awoke with his heart racing and his thoughts confused. He couldn't sleep, and he couldn't figure out why he was being tormented in his dreams... until now.

For days, he'd dreamed only of violet ash, of voices whispering to him, some angry, some accusing, some sad.

_Our blood is on your hand._

_Your promises to us are worth nothing._

_You empowered the butcher who sought to destroy us._

_Your peace gave us only death._

_Liar._

_Charlatan._

_Murderer._

Tonight, as he gasped awake, the last accusation still rang in his ears, piercing him with a shameful truth.

_You didn't care enough about her to protest the injustice of her murder._

* * *

Sylvanas had been uninterested at Vol'jin's signal, choosing to return immediately to the safety of Undercity (in part for the protection of her Val'kyr). Lor'themar however made no objections, even though he disliked the unrefined habitat of the other Horde races greatly. Knowledge was power after all, and of all the racial leaders, only Garrosh and Vol'jin were present when everything changed in Orgrimmar.

When Orgrimmar had been cursed, so it appeared.

The goblin slums was now deserted, and the Valley of Spirits sparsely populated, but even Lor'themar could feel the disturbance in the air. It reminded him of the Ghostlands, and his heart ached for his fallen homeland. Yet, the Ghostlands had been mostly devoid of the living after Arthas' rampage through the heart of the elven kingdom. Here in Orgrimmar... it was as if the living and the dead were locked in a deadly war for survival, and the living was losing rapidly.

"Had we not better meet elsewhere? This place is... hostile, even with the Kor'korn." He had the strangest sensation that he'd been followed from the throne room.

"Nowhere else in Orgrimmar safer, Regent Lord. And I doan plan on returning until dis be all over," Vol'jin replied, with his trolls hurrying around him, busily packing. "Dem Kor'korn don't come often no more. Dat how dem goblins escaped, I think."

Baine nodded assent. "Then begin, friend. How it all started."

The troll shadow hunter sighed. "Dis be a strange tale, ja. We was all at Orgrimmar after you left, Baine, an' waiting on da Warchief's plan to attack Feathermoon Stronghold when she came. Alone, she was, and she didn't teleport in like she used to. She just glided in through the main gates, bold as ya please, and no Kor'korn could harm her none. Like she be invincible, ja?"

Lor'themar frowned thoughtfully. "Sounds like a Divine Shield, but the lady isn't a paladin. She prays to the Light, of course, but that alone doesn't mean..."

"I doan know how she done it, Regent Lord. Only dat she did. She looked like death, her hair was so white, and her grief and sorrow so intense, she din look left nor right. She din even see me, I think." At these words, Baine's heart sank, and he said a silent prayer of strength to his one-time ally. _She didn't deserve this._ "Shoulda been dead half a hundred times before she even reached Grommash Hold. And dere she stood, trembling, and screaming for Garrosh to come out.

"Garrosh came, and he starts mockin' her, askin' why she wasn't dead and if she came for him ta finish da job. She..." Vol'jin gulped. "Her eyes flashed fire then, an' she starts asking if da orcs ever kept a promise. Asked if da ancestors were pleased dat dey destroyed dere own honour to destroy her. Asked how long it be before da Horde destroyed itself.

"He laughed her off, Garrosh. Din take her seriously. Tried to cut off her head with dat axe of his, ja. Din work none. She then screamed that Thrall had promised her kin would always be safe from Orgrimmar after her papa died, and dat promise be broken. Then..."

The troll chieftain could only shudder involuntarily before he continued. "I'll never forget her face, mon. Or her words. _Cursed_ , she said, _I curse you and all those who follow you, that you shall know the depth of my sorrow, until you learn to value the sanctity of life, the meaning of honour, and the weight of promises._ " It could have been a trick of the wind, but Lor'themar thought a thousand voices whispered the exact same words alongside Vol'jin's recital, and he resisted the urge to glance at Baine to see if he'd noticed it too. "Dey be her words exact. Everyone within ten feet could feel da power from her as she unleashed it unto Orgrimmar. Den she disappeared. Nobody heard from her since, I hear. Not even Alliance."

Baine bowed his head, but Lor'themar was curious. "She cursed her sorrow upon us until we... she didn't curse us unto death? That's... interesting. After Thalen's suicide, I had wondered." Despite himself, he felt respect for the human sorceress. To lose one's home and family and yet was able to pull herself back from the ultimate vengeance of a life for a life, demanding only for respect and understanding. No wonder his prince had been attracted to the child... for all the good it did him, especially in the end.

"Ja. I doan know if da elements or spirits be linked to dat curse. But dey be angry all da same. An' I doan want my people ta suffer from dis. I wrote to Thrall ta see if he can't talk to the elements none. An' maybe he's da only one who can find da Lady Proudmoore. Dem's friends far more than you or I, Baine."

"Very true," the tauren high chieftain nodded sadly. "I remember meeting the lady when I was but a calf; she knew my father better, back when our races were still friendly. Still, she treated me well when... that is, when I met her again."

Lor'themar had not known her at all; he'd only heard rumours of the girl his prince was infatuated with, like the rest of the elven court, and never had cause to visit Dalaran, or been an ambassador to the human kingdoms. He'd fortunately, or unfortunately, been away when the girl had came to plead with his king about fleeing to Kalimdor and only left with the handful of elves who were curious to visit their ancestral continent, for his absence saved him from witnessing first-hand the devastation of Quel'thalas.

For now, though, he'd learned all he came here to learn. He hoped that with the wording of the lady, her curse would be satisfied with Thalen's life as far as the blood elves were concerned. Otherwise... he would have more cause than she to be worried over potential sympathisers to Garrosh's hopeless cause within his regency.

* * *

Go'el had more success in locating his one-time friend than he'd had persuading the elements back to his aid. They had cried out in agony from the torture of his dark brethren. They refused to answer until balance was restored. And they had told him that they were still being painfully mistreated. _Stop, please. We cannot bear it. This is not the covenant of the shaman._

It was ironically easy to locate her once he'd been brought up to speed on the current unknown whereabouts of the lady. Of course there would be only one place she would go. He knew enough about her to know that they'd both known a sorceress with a similar need to hide, and where she had hidden.

With the Horde's dirigible no longer at his command, he'd had to maneuver Snowsong skilfully around the thunder lizards that had so long ago attempted to threaten Orgrimmar, that Jaina at his behest had relocated. He rode until he sensed magical wards of protection, and knew he'd arrived at the correct place. "Jaina! It is I, Go'el."

She didn't appear for the longest time, and he was half tempted to call out again when a large black raven soared above. It cawed once, then pecked at the magical wards, breaking through completely. Go'el stared, knowing immediately who the bird was. Curiously, it didn't change forms as it furiously cawed at the house until Jaina finally emerged. He gasped; it was one thing to be told that her hair had turned white, it was quite another to see it, with only a single strand of golden hair remaining. But more than that, when before her face was lined with worry and hope for better times, now it was only wreathed with weariness and resignation. And, he was sad to see, a hint of defiant anger that was all for him.

The raven settled on the ground beside Jaina, letting them both know without words that it was firmly on the sorceress' side, for all that it had helped Go'el cross her wards, and stared at the shaman beadily before taking off once again, disappearing from view.

"Jaina, I..." Now that he was finally here, face to face with her, Go'el hardly knew where to begin. "May we... speak?"

She scoffed disbelievingly. "What is there left to say, Thrall?" He shifted uncomfortably, for the reminder of his old name stung. They had been friends when he was Thrall, and now... her demeanour said that she knew him not. Go'el was a stranger to her. "Theramore is dead because Garrosh lives, while Orgrimmar still lives because my father is dead. Explain that to me! Explain why it is that I must always be the one to give and give, to compromise and sacrifice! Explain to me why you empowered Garrosh, whom you - hell, everyone! - knew to hate the Alliance with an unquenchable passion, without the full expectation that this would happen!"

Go'el was shocked. "I didn't... I didn't know he would go this far! He acquitted himself well in Northrend, and I--"

Jaina could only laugh bitterly. "You didn't know, or you'd hoped? Your power and authority was the only thing keeping Garrosh in check, and even then he was already constantly pulling at your leash, challenging you and disrespecting you. Wasn't Cairne enough to give you pause about him? Or did you not care that the Horde was in such disarray that Baine had to come to _me_ for aid in his struggle against Magatha? I, who was supposed to be his enemy! Didn't it give you pause that Garrosh did not even care about the other Horde races, let alone his enmity with the Alliance?"

"I... there was no other choice..." Even as he spoke the words, he heard a whisper: _Liar_. "I didn't expect to be gone so long at first, and I left him with good counsel..."

"No choice?" the formerly blonde-haired sorceress repeated disbelievingly. "Cairne wasn't a choice? Or Saurfang or Eitrigg or Vol'jin? And when had Garrosh ever heeded _your_ counsel, even while you were warchief?"

"It was for the good of the Horde!" he finally said. "He was a war hero, and I didn't know if the people will follow the others quite as willingly. I did what I thought was right, with what I had!"

"Ah yes, for the good of your precious Horde." His friend shook her head mockingly, as his every sin was suddenly poked wide by her, its ugly truth something he was shocked to have to accept. Jaina had always been a peacekeeper, had given and given, as she'd said, and as he'd now only begun to accept just how much she'd sacrifice for the sake of peace, that he'd forgotten she wasn't a woman who couldn't fight her own corner. Garrosh had called her weak, when she'd had to fight against her own fellow Alliance leaders in order to maintain stability between the two factions. Only now, instead of fighting with the King of Stormwind, she was taking him to task, and he was feeling the full effects of just how much of her suffering he'd ignored. "Tell me, Thrall. If I had acted for the good of Theramore and _only_ Theramore when my father arrived, where would you be now?"

The wind howled around them, almost swallowing his answer, "Nowhere." There was nothing more to say.

* * *

A tear slipped down her face as she regarded the retreating back of her one-time friend, for friends they could never be to each other again. Even if this had not been his explicit intent, he had still betrayed her, betrayed their friendship forged in blood. Jaina let the tear fall for all they had been to each other, only now recognizing how one-sided it had been for far too long, and how heavy the price had been for her trying to shoulder the entire burden of peace on herself, for failing to recognize that while she'd spoken of peace, Thrall had always spoken of the Horde, and the subtlety of that difference had been what brought about the deaths of those she'd sworn to protect. Kinndy, Pained, Tervosh... Rhonin.

_"Jaina, is there nothing I can say to make you lift the curse?"_

_"Even if I could, I wouldn't, Thrall. You keep saying that the Horde is not like Garrosh, yet the same people who were happy to follow you then are happy to follow him now. I don't think the Horde knows what itself is, oscillating always between bloodlust and sanity. No, Orgrimmar will keep its blood covenant, for as long as Theramore is unable to rest in peace."_

She came out of her thoughts as the great black raven returned, this time transforming into the human form of Medivh. "Child..."

"I didn't want to speak to him. You know that," she reproached him, then immediately felt foolish for reprimanding the Guardian.

Medivh only sighed. "You needed to speak to him, even if you didn't want to. And he needed to hear the truth from your lips, however harsh it is. What he does after this is up to him, and what you do after this..."

"...is up to me? What is there left for me to do? Theramore is gone! All my people..." More tears rolled down her cheeks as she turned away from her companion, willing herself furiously to stop. Only when she'd collected herself did she turn back to him. "I have no power and no resources. Not even political standing to have a say in anything."

"Perhaps," Medivh mused, as annoyingly enigmatic as ever. "Or perhaps not."

She stared at him for some time, silently questioning, while he remained uncharacteristically patient, for one who'd only appeared to her for as little time as necessary in the past. Giving up on trying to divine the secrets of his loaded words, she turned back to her cottage - the cottage that once belonged to his mother - and remarked, "Once, you fought your hardest to unite three races. Is this another one of your interventions?"

"Hardly," he refuted immediately, as he fell into step beside her. "My primary concern as the Guardian has always been the Legion. It's why I've chosen to withdraw after the Battle of Mount Hyjal was won. After having meddled so much in bringing the orcs into this world and forcing both sides into a protracted conflict, perhaps I feel... I feel that I should not influence the destinies of the remaining races unless absolutely necessary." After a slight pause, he added softly, "And I had thought that with you both appearing to wish to maintain at least a friendly civility between factions, Azeroth can survive for at least another generation without much interference."

Jaina raised her eyebrows. "So this thing about me going back into the world is so that you won't have to? You disappoint me, Magna."

Medivh stopped walking, and turned to her. "Jaina," he began, and she was surprised that he'd addressed her with her given name for the first time. "You do not yet belong to the relics of the past, not like I do. Your time will come eventually, but that time is not now. You need to grieve for your fallen family, that's true, but as you once rescued my mother from her self-imposed exile, you must understand this yourself too. The pain will pass, if never forgotten. And then you will need to rise to fight again, for this world is still worth fighting for."

Fresh pain stabbed her, for Theramore's wound was still too raw. What was left that was worth fighting for? "I have no desire to fight any longer, nor does the world have any need of me. I am not the hero of this story."

"Nor are you the villain," Medivh agreed companionably. "But then what are heroes and villains but biased labels historians tack upon larger than life historical figures after the fact? I have read myself be described as a villain for bringing the orcs into this world and wrecking devastation upon human lands, and yet also as a hero for bringing orcs into this world of fertile land and saving them from the dying world of Draenor. In the end I am only a human mage whose life had been manipulated since birth to be the extension of will of two powerful beings."

"You are a man who chose to atone for the sins of another being. What Sargares did through you was not your fault."

"Who can tell though? He had been with me since I was conceived, as was the imprint of my mother's iron will. I do not know who I would have become if I had been allowed to be just me. Perhaps different, but perhaps the same. We are all of us influenced by our surrounding society, however much we might claim independence of it."

Jaina suddenly went cold. "You're saying that it was not the fault of the Horde for being influenced by Garrosh's bloodlust?"

"As I said, who can really tell? The entire Horde saw what happened to Theramore - some were truly horrified but some rejoiced it as a victory, while still more were merely the weak following the strong. But perhaps," Here, Medivh laughed, self-depreciatingly, "I myself am biased by the guilt for my part in bringing them here in the first place. The penance you imposed certainly saw to it that your point of view was impressed upon them, to be as unforgettable as the horror of Theramore was for you. Yet I cannot tell what the full consequences this action will bring, even if you were still fairer to them than they have been to you." He squeezed his companion's shoulder comfortingly, showing her that he didn't, couldn't blame her for her actions. "That is something only Time can tell."

The young sorceress wasn't sure if she should be reassured by that philosophy, but nevertheless thanked the Guardian for his words before he turned back into his raven form and flew off into the evening sky. Absentmindedly, she put her protection wards back in place as she re-entered the cottage, and looked around for the longest time. Then, clenching her fists, she made the short distance across the room to stand in front of the only mirror.

Passing her hand before the cool surface, she muttered the modified teleportation spell she'd invented for long-distance conversations. She hesitated only slightly before she spoke the name of the person she wished most to see. Someone who, perhaps, needed just as much comfort as she did.

"Vereesa Windrunner."

_\- Finis -_

**Author's Note:**

> Dear World of Warcraft MoP storyboarders, kindly fuck yourself in the ass for a) traumatizing Jaina, b) making her go through horrific PTSD and c) framing it to be her fault / she's turning evil because reasons. Fuck you very much.
> 
> Also Chris Metzen, nobody likes your Gary Stu Green Jesus shit. Please stop.


End file.
